Trigun Scenes We Never Got to See
by igbogal
Summary: Retitled. Ever wonder what scenes were left on the cutting room floor? There is OOC'ness, but it was done for a reason. Suggestions are welcome! Anime based.
1. What You Need

Disclaimer time! I do not own Trigun or any of its characters in any shape or form, nor do i intend to profit from this in any way. 'Family Guy' belongs solely to the godlike Seth McFarlane and his associates. So call off the copyright lawyers and vicious dogs, okay?

Author's Note: This is just something that ran through my head while watching 'Diablo' on late night TV. Which probably means I should go to bed earlier... anyway, this is a scene that might have been, had someone else, namely me, had a hand in writing that episode. Many thanks to the awesomeAine of Knockaine, who kindly suggested this was fit for public viewing. Reviews of any kind are welcome.

'He can't hide from me forever,' thought Monev the Gale. "Come on out, Vash  
the Stampede!" called the Gung Ho Gun, shooting a plate glass window into  
sand for emphasis. A shrill whistle pierced the dry night air. Monev didn't  
spare it any attention, and turned to lumber on through town when a  
commanding voice floated up from the street below.

"Hey!" a soprano voice yelled. Even he had to admit, it sounded rather  
sweet. "Hey, big guy! Yeah - you. Down here!"

Maybe it was the audacity of a person who dared to yell at him instead of  
running for cover and cowering, or the utter surprise at finding anyone who  
actually wanted to talk to him, that made the brute pause and look down. A  
petite young woman stood next to a bullet ridden storefront, with bare feet  
and hands on her hips. Moonlight reflected off her bronze skin and chestnut  
gold hair. Doing her best to look formidable in only her nightgown, she  
said, "Excuse me, but it is_two in the morning_, and some of us have to go to  
work in a few hours. Can't you keep it down!"

Monev the Gale stared at her in disbelief.

"What are you trying to pull, rampaging through a town in the middle of the  
night, destroying everything?" the girl seethed.

Recalling his mission, the mercenary growled, "Where's Vash the Stampede?"

"I mean", she continued, "Why the hell would anyone WANT to do such a thing?  
Are you sick or something?"

Monev was silent.

Seconds passed.

Then, "I don't know...I guess so."

The burning anger in the woman's eyes softened to a look of pity and  
compassion. "Oh... you poor man! Come with me - we'll have talk and coffee,  
and after that we can work on getting you some help."

Then Monev the Gale, hulking humanoid killing machine and faithful servant of Millions Knives, bowed his head and followed the young woman toward the center of town.


	2. Viper

"Viper"

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, and I'm not making any profit from this. I'm poor, so nobody sue.

* * *

Luz Sandoval, proud new inheritor of the Agave Saloon, wiped down the blue tiles of the bar in slow circles. The place was as quiet as it would ever get; it was late afternoon and the noisy lunch break crowd had largely trailed away. She bent down to put away the washrag, and looked up to see the most dangerous creature on the planet perched at the end of her bar.

A pair of bright eyes glittered at her in the afternoon heat. She saw the quick flicker of a pink tongue, and fear began to rise in the pit of her stomach.

Her memory threw up an afternoon several years ago, when she was eight, before her parents had bought the bar. She was walking home with her father after his shift digging the town well and she had frozen in fright when she saw a horned viper lying in the road, two steps in front of her.Everyone knew that this snake, so sleek and beautiful, could strike soundlessly and kill a man in seconds.

"Stay there." Dad had said, "It just needs help, see where it's hurt?" Luz noticed that the tip of the viper's tail was crushed, as if a car had rolled over it in the road. Her father swung his shovel blade down from his shoulder, scooped up the snake, and placed it safely on the side of the road, where it slithered back towards the dunes.

"If you treat animals with respect, even the most dangerous ones won't hurt you." he had said, as they walked on. The grown up Luz studied the sleek and silent occupant at the end of the bar. She could not leave things in this state, something had to be done. If she moved quickly and quietly, she would probably not be hurt.

She would show no fear. With silent steps and quick fingers, Luz approached the stool where Legato Bluesummers was eating and held his hair out of his face.


	3. Skippy

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, or the episode 'Alternative' that inspired this, as anyone who reads the snippet below will soon discover. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Many thanks to my faithful reviewers; you make me feel loved. How's my writing? Call 1-800- REVIEW.

Vash dodged chunks of falling concrete thrown into the air by the rampaging sandworm currently ripping through the city. Now, at least, he had guessed where they were coming from, and the destruction would stop. He aimed, fired, and shattered the sonic transmitter behind the young blonde boy's left ear. The little boy stood proudly, chest puffed out and tiny hands on his hips, and announced: "I am Zazie the Beast, the – "

"Zazie Xavier Smith! You stop that this _minute_, mister!"

The Beast fell silent and slowly turned toward the owner of the voice, a very irate man in his late thirties. Vash bristled with annoyance. This kid had just destroyed a whole city with his sandworms – was this guy crazy! As the stranger drew closer, Zazie bowed his head.

"Have you been doing your silly voices again? ", the man demanded. The little assassin continued to stare at his feet.

"N – no, Dad."

"Your mother and I leave town for four days, and THIS is what happens? Do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you're in? I ought to give you a spanking right now!" the man continued.

Now things were really confusing. Vash turned to the man who was, apparently, Zazie's father and said, "Wait a minute…hold on. That kid doesn't have any parents – all the kids here are orphans. Their parents got up in the middle of the night one night and abandoned them, never to return." He went on to relate everything that had happened since his arrival with Wolfwood and the Insurance Girls.

"Is that what they told you?" "The Beast's" father chuckled. "The little fibbers – we had to relocate everyone when our Plant started to burn out a year ago. The adults in town wanted to be sure that the new city site was uncontaminated – free of radiation, land mines – and homes mostly finished before we moved the children over. Some of the kids here _are_ orphans, my wife and I run the orphanage, but most have families waiting for them in….Zazie, where _is_ your sister?" he broke off suddenly. "She's supposed to be watching you!"

Zazie shrugged. "Sara's at her boyfriend's house with Kim. She said they were gonna have a party for her 19th birthday, an' she's not back yet."

Mr. Smith sighed. "I should've known better than to leave that girl in charge. I'll take care of her later. As for you, young man, make sure Skippy is in his den, and tell everyone to get ready to go. And don't think you're not getting that spanking!"

"Yes, sir", the Beast pouted.

"Skippy?" Vash asked.

"It's the name of his pet sandworm.", Zazie's father replied. After making his son thank 'the nice man' for keeping everyone safe, including a grudging apology and a promise to always take his Ritalin, the harried father walked Vash back to the orphanage and his friends. "Thanks for taking care of the kids", said Mr. Smith. "I'm really very sorry about all this, mister….?"

"Uh…never mind. I was glad to help, really…." Vash said weakly. In that moment, he vowed that form now on he would spend the bulk of his time with people over the legal drinking age.


	4. Accordion

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun or any affiliated names or characters. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: If this sucks, I apologize. Please review; it's the only way I'll get better!

The whole thing had started with a radio broadcast.

One characteristically slow and dusty afternoon, a bored DJ had somehow stumbled across an old recording of an even older dance from Earth, labeled with the odd sounding name of 'Polka'. The bouncy, exuberant music with the exotic name must have energized the people of Gunsmoke, because the polka craze soon spread to all the major cities of the desert planet. Six months later, it showed no sign of stopping.

Midvalley the Hornfreak ruminated on all this as he sat at the bar, hunched over his gin and tonic and trying hard to ignore the peppy music oom-pah-pah-ing from the jukebox. His band hadn't been able to get a gig for months, and soon he could be reduced to playing his precious Sylvia on the streets. He shuddered at the thought. It wasn't like he could make his employer understand that the reason he couldn't exterminate crowds of humans lately was because nobody wanted to listen to him play. The only time the blue-haired psychic would ever worry was if Gunsmoke ran out of cheesecake, he thought as he caught Legato's image in the mirror over the bar. The jazz man sighed.

For the first time in his life, Midvalley wished he played the accordion.


	5. Fashion Victim

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Trigun. If I did, my writing would be much better than this, don't ya think?

I haven't updated in a while, so sorry! Inspiration has been slow in coming. This is for elaine, who does not believe in capitalization and who has graciously put my humble drabbleseries on her 'Favorite Stories' list. Hopefully, it's a better thank-you gift than old fruitcake.

* * *

Dominique never forgot the day of her first, and last, heist. 

It had happened a lifetime ago, maybe ten. Back before she met a beautiful, golden-eyed demon; back when she still had two clear, bright eyes and her father's name of Pontellier, and 'knives' was only the name for the silver things that rested on restaurant tables. The bounty hunting game had been slow and frustrating, and her gut told her that she was still too young and inexperienced to be hired as a highly paid assassin in one of the big cities. So she had boarded a bus to New Oregon one sunny morning, to try her luck in a new city and hopefully replenish her alarmingly small supply of cash.

She walked out of the bus and into the glare of one of Gunsmoke'stypically blazing summer afternoons, and watched as the other passengers streamed into a nearby saloon. The place was obviously a popular traveler's rest stop, and it gave her an idea. At age fourteen, she had been an accomplice when her best friend robbed a convenience store. Robbing this place would be just as easy, and it would get her some quick cash. Resolved, she looked up at the black and red sign of the Gatsby Saloon and entered the cool darkness of the bar. Inside, she sat on a stool and drank a whiskey she couldn't really afford as she surveyed the room from under the brim of her hat. Respectable, middle class passengers lounged on the suede sofas or stood at the wooden bar. A stylish young woman in a velvet trimmed denim jacket and a purple fedora sat at a glass and chrome table across from Dominique. The bounty hunter figured she was a trust fund baby out slumming with Daddy's money.

It was a perfect setup. In what appeared to be one fluid movement, Dominique had left her stool, crossed over to the table, and put of her gun to the girl's temple. "Anyone moves, and the girl dies", she announced to the room. "And since I hate a mess, the bartender here is going to give me all the money in the register, or I'll blow her brains out. Am I clear?" The other patrons froze, their faces ashen, as the bartender cursed and slowlylaid billson the bar with shaking hands.

Dominique backed up to the bar with her hostage held firmly against her. The girl's face had paled, and she was staring straight ahead at their reflection in the mirror across the room. After about a minute, the girl's lower lip had stopped trembling, and to Dominique's surprise, she spoke. "Well… ", her hostage said slowly, "If….if I'm going to be killed, it should at least be at the hands of someone with good fashion sense. Take my hat. You can use the old one to plant geraniums in."

Dominique blinked, momentarily stunned. Then she reasoned that the girl's bravery was the strange sort that came when one had made their peace with death, and put on the purple fedora with her free hand. She took a second to glance at her new reflection, with the hat that complimented her lavender hair, and smirked. Even she had to admit…. she looked _damned_ good in it. Her reverie was broken by the sound of engines and the tromping of policemen's footsteps outside – the bartender had pressed the silent alarm while she was distracted, and she was outnumbered. She released the girl and sprinted out the kitchen door just as the police burst in. Six months later, her purple fedora, precious symbol of her womanhood, was shot off and ruined in a firefight.

Through everything that had happened to her since that day, Dominique never forgot her first, and only, heist. Now, as her body hung from the building where the Hornfreak had left her, her vision growing dim and the life force flowing from her neatly severed jugular vein, the former Dominique Pontellier, now Dominique the Cyclops, had her last thought before passing from this world to the next.

"_Damn_, I miss that hat."


	6. Confessional

A/N: I'm back, and hopefully I've brought along something good. This one-shot is dedicated to marinmitgebrochenenherzen, who requested a fic about the portable confessional. I hope it meets her high standards! Of course, I am SO grateful to all my wonderful reviewers for all the unconditional positive regard and helpful suggestions. I dearly wish I could hug you all! Also, I apologize in advance for any and all grammatical and usage errors.

**Warning! Warning! Warning!** This story contains an implied female/female same-sex relationship. If you don't like that kind of innuendo, or are too young to read about that sort of thing, skip this story. There. Now no one can blame _me _for corrupting the innocent.

Disclaimer: Trigun and all characters mentioned below belong to Yashiro Nightow, and are not being used for profit.

* * *

In the city of May, two men walked together toward the bus station in the still gentle midmorning sunlight. The man dressed in black with a huge cross slung across his back ground his cigarette into the sandstone sidewalk. He turned to his companion in red and broke the unaccustomed silence.

"Somethin' eating you, Vash? You've been quiet all morning, and you just walked right past that donut shop without stopping. What's up?"

Vash waved his hand in the air dismissively. "It's nothing."

Wolfwood looked shocked. "Needle-Noggin! Lying to a priest? You should be ashamed of yourself." he said with a smirk.

Vash rubbed the back of his neck and looked uneasily at the ground. "It's just… it's a little embarrassing, is all."

They had reached the station. Wolfwood ushered his friend to a bench and sat down. The priest rummaged through his duffel as he spoke up again. "Well, if you're too shy… never fear, my friend! With just _one_ _use_ of the innovative, handy dandy Portable Confessional, your secrets are kept exclusively between you and our Savior himself. In an instant, you'll have freedom form your woes, guaranteed! Guarantee void in Inepril city." Hundreds of years ago, on a faraway planet, Nicholas Wolfwood's ancestors would have instantly recognized his chipper tone as that of late- night television ads that annoyingly urged them to buy indispensable gadgets that slice and dice and chop things into little tiny pieces and fold up to fit under the bed, for the low, low price of $19.95. Vash, however, just looked at the priest's cheesy grin and laughed.

"All right, I give in."

Wolfwood placed the tiny cardboard confessional over his penitent's head. "Now," he said solemnly, "What do you have to confess?"

Vash paused to consider the question, and then said, "I guess I had what you'd call, uh, impure thoughts."

The priest rubbed his chin. "Well, nobody's perfect – no matter how hard _some _of us strive to be." Wolfwood thought he saw Vash squirm slightly in his seat. "So, when did these thoughts start?"

Vash cleared his throat and reached back into his memory. "It all started last night…."

* * *

They had all had dinner together after they checked into a hotel. When everyone had finished, Milly and Meryl were strangely eager to return to their room. Wolfwood went out in search of cigarettes, leaving Vash to entertain himself at a local bar. His solitary festivities were cut short when the bar's owner discovered that Vash had promptly gone through all of his best bourbon, and for good measure, had also hit on his favorite niece while she was bartending. So it was that a slightly tipsy Humanoid Typhoon had been tossed out into the street at the very early hour of 10:00. Out of cash and with nothing better to do, he dusted himself off and wandered back to his hotel.

Feeling a little dizzy, Vash made his way down the hall to his room and rested his head against the doorframe. He was surprised to hear the sound of female voices from the other side of the door. What were women doing in his room? Intrigued, he leaned in closer, straining to hear.

A nervous voice drifted out the door. "I don't know, Milly…I mean, I've never done this before."

"There's nothing to be nervous about, Meryl. Trust me – when it's all over, you'll feel much more relaxed!"

Vash's eyes widened. The Insurance girls? This was_ their_ room…. what were they up to? His wonderings were interrupted by the chipper voice of Milly.

"Just take off your shirt and lie down…okay, ready?"

"Yeah, I – _oh,_ that feels good! Mmmm…. You know Milly, we should have done this…_ooooh…_ sooner."

"Mmm. Now, tell me if I'm too rough – sometimes I don't know my own strength!"

"You're doing great….that's the spot…. _Ahhhh_…."

The sounds of Meryl's contented sighs sparked many enticing ideas in Vash's bourbon soaked brain. So _this _was why the Insurance girls never went out on dates, why Meryl violently spurned men's advances. He had just never imagined that they were 'that kind' of girlfriends. Maybe he should open the door just a crack - just enough to see if they were in any danger, of course. There could be snipers around, or spooks, or….

"Milly, that tickles!"

"Hee hee! Sorry! Let's try – "

At that moment, the laws of physics governed Vash's eagerly listening form, and he fell, head first, into the room. Suddenly, there was the sound of a shriek and the sight of a very angry, towel clad Meryl standing over him, bottles of nail polish and emery boards scattered at her feet. Milly stood behind her, dressed in pajamas with cold cream all over her face. "Oh…hi Mr. Vash! Weren't you going to go to a bar? Well, if you want to join in on the fun, too bad – it's our girl's night in, so no boys allowed!" the tall girl said, wagging a finger at him playfully. "I can give you one of my famous massages later, though, if you want."

"NNN….No, that's okay…" Vash stammered. Backing away from an increasingly incensed Meryl was a priority now; if he didn't hurry –

"What do you think you're doing, you – you – PERVERT! " she yelled. As the short girl's fist came down on his head, he heard Milly's anxious plea.

"No, Meryl! You'll ruin your massage!"

* * *

"…and after that, everything went dark." said Vash, lifting the confessional from his head. "Meryl will never forgive me. It's been hours, and my head _still _hurts!"

"Well, you have the Lord's forgiveness," said the priest, chuckling. "It sounds like the whole thing was an honest mistake. Just tell Meryl that, apologize, and buy her a banana sundae every day for a week, and she'll surely forgive you." He put the tiny chapel away and stood, walking toward a coffee stand.

"And for the good Lord's sake, needle-noggin," he said over his shoulder, "Stop listening at doors!"


End file.
